


Filing Status: Single

by unfinishedidea



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedidea/pseuds/unfinishedidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>In determining the meaning of any Act of Congress, or of any ruling, regulation, or interpretation of the various administrative bureaus and agencies of the United States, the word 'marriage' means only a legal union between one man and one woman as husband and wife, and the word 'spouse' refers only to a person of the opposite sex who is a husband or a wife.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filing Status: Single

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/gifts).



> This is for celli, the only reason I'd write about taxes. ♥ I had no idea where to start, so she gave me a prompt [here](http://celli.dreamwidth.org/1288621.html?thread=10590381#cmt10590381). Also, for real, this fic would not have seen the light of day without fantastic, _multiple_ betas by lynnmonster and surexit. It would also have sucked without the both of them. A MILLION THANKS.

“Can I just zap you with Reed’s sex-change ray?” Tony says. “This would be easier if I zapped you with the sex-change ray.”

Steve gives him the Look. There’s a lot packed into the Look. Lots of disapproval and exasperation, with a bonus “I know you’re better than that” for a crunchy, guilt-packed center. It’s kind of a thing of beauty and works wonders on everyone from delinquent teens to the curmudgeonly elderly. Tony wants to trademark it, but refrains from saying so. He’d definitely get the Look if he did. There’s a certain tolerance that he’s built up from getting it fairly often, and, okay, to be fair, the one he gets is also special, wrapped in fondness, but it still elicits a tiny and almost Pavlovian response of contrition in him. It’s very faint, though. 

“I’d be doing it for the benefit of us both,” Tony says, “because then the federal government would recognize our marriage and we could have just filed one of these and been done with it.” He’s totally not bitter. 

They weren’t married this time last year, but Steve had still wanted to do their taxes together since they were in a “committed relationship that’s a marriage in all but law, Tony,” and, well, c’mon, let’s not pretend that he isn’t wrapped around Steve’s finger.

They’d used Stark tablets, and Steve had caught him doing suit modifications on his tablet while JARVIS happily crunched away at his taxes in the background (he’d tried, he really had, but _taxes_ ). So this year, Steve’s insisted that they sit down together and do it. On paper. It’s _torturous_. And also near-impossible to do in a reasonable amount of time, even with Tony’s genius. Steve thinks it’s a fun and important long-term project, learning the intricacies of the theory and the policies behind why certain taxes exist, and it “better helps us understand how our government works, Tony,” which, sorry, no; “long-term project” and “taxes” do not belong together in the same sentence. Steve’s taxes are easy peasy; he’d finished them on the first day of what Tony likes to call the “Week of Horribleness” and had spent the next two researching Tony’s taxes. He still doesn’t get the sheer enormity of Tony’s wealth. This is not the 1040EZ. Also, Tony just couldn’t care less. They pay people to do this shit. Tony’s already wasted _three whole days_ on this. 

“I could have invented things by now,” Tony says under his breath, “important things. The new Starkphone. Siri who?” 

Steve sighs and sets aside his pencil. His _pencil_ , for Christ’s sake.

“I just—I like doing things together,” Steve says quietly. “Normal married couple things.”

And now Tony feels like a complete heel. 

“Okay, we need to redefine your idea of ‘normal married couple things’,” Tony says, air quoting, “But also, I’m a total ass, I’m sorry. It’s just. Really, on _paper_? Can’t we compromise? Let me at least use Excel.” He whips out the puppy eyes. Desperate times. Forty-point-seventy-two percent chance of working (he’d had JARVIS calculate it), but he’ll take what he can get. 

Steve sighs, long-suffering, but he looks at Tony for a time, and finally says, “All right, yes, fine.” He’s clearly humoring him, but Tony is so fucking relieved, even if he won’t be able to dump it all on JARVIS. Now he can get it done in a millionth of the time, _thank Jesus_. 

He descends into a number-crunching and coding haze, fingers flying over his wireless keyboard, and surfaces some unknown time later to Steve resting his head on Tony’s shoulder and quietly singing, “I’m feeling sexy and free,” to the music playing out of his tablet. Sometimes Tony is convinced that he’s hooked up to a PASIV device in a dank basement, dreaming up this perfect life when he’s actually drooling on himself, but if this is a dream then he doesn’t ever want to wake up.

“Okay, done, what’s next?”

“Well, according to the Google fellow”—Tony internally facepalms—“after we each do our federal taxes, we have to fill out a joint federal return so that we can do our New York tax return.” 

“Whoa whoa whoa, hold up,” Tony says, sitting up, “not only do we need to file individually? But we also need to do a _fake_ federal return so that we can file a joint tax return for New York? 

Steve frowns, but mhmms an affirmative. 

“Okay. Okay, that is total bullshit. We have to file twice the amount of asinine paperwork just because there are two dicks in this marriage instead of one? Not that you’re a dick,” Tony amends. “You just have one. A very nice one.” 

“Tony,” Steve says, but Tony’s on a roll.

“Steve, I’m tired of waiting for the public to play catch-up; I know, I know I said that I wouldn’t bribe or blackmail anyone to get this country into the 21st century, but let me just make a _phone call_.”

Steve sighs again. There seems to be a lot of that today. “You can’t bully the government into doing what you want just because you don’t want to do your taxes.” 

“First of all, I’m affronted that you think I’d want to make the federal government recognize our marriage just for personal—okay, who am I kidding, I’m totally an entitled asshole who would do that—but Steve,” Tony takes Steve’s hand, “selfishness aside, this is ridiculous. I’m tired of us having to jump through bureaucratic hoops and dealing with crap that we shouldn’t have to just because no one has the balls in Congress to repeal bigotry. I should be using my powers for good. My monetary powers, I mean.”

Steve shakes his head. “What kind of message would it send to the country if we just used our influence and power to get whatever we wanted?”

“Okay, so, I see your point? But haven’t you heard of that quote that’s been plagiarized by high school students since the internet was invented? Something like ‘we can’t wait around for the unwashed masses to give us equal rights, because the day they do that willingly will be the day Justin Hammer invents something useful. Also known as never.’ I’m just paraphrasing here. But if no one pushed to change the status quo, it’d never change,” Tony says. 

Steve looks at him, considering. “You’re really bothered by this,” Steve says, with something like wonder in his voice.

“No need to make it sentimental,” Tony says, scowling, but Steve just smiles (which doesn’t make Tony’s heart flutter like he’s a lovesick teenager, nope), then leans in and kisses him, cupping his jaw.

It makes something turn over in his chest, and Tony pulls back and clears his throat, then says, “Um, right, okay. JARVIS, get me Xing on the line, don’t let her aide, what’s his name, Dan? Dave? Whatever, don’t let him put you on hold, and if he tries to, tell him to tell Xing that I won’t endorse Ramirez come election year. And she can kiss my campaign contributions goodbye.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Xing? As in Mei Xing, the _White House Chief of Staff_?” 

“Ha ha, yeah, did I forget to mention that part?”

“Senior aide to _President Ramirez_?” 

JARVIS clears his nonexistent throat and says, “Captain Rogers, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Xing is on the line, sir.”

Tony squeezes Steve’s hand and says, “Thanks, put her through, JARVIS.” 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Stark?” Xing sounds harried, and the sarcasm comes through loud and clear. Tony’s always appreciated her no bullshit attitude. It’s why he’s personally tried to finance her (and by proxy, Maria Ramirez’s) meteoric rise in politics. 

“So I need you to do something for me,” Tony says, “I want the Defense of Marriage Act repealed.”

The loud silence coming through the speakers could suffocate someone. 

“And also for it to be made clear to lesser states that it’s unconstitutional to ban gay marriage at the state level, but baby steps.”

“It’s lovely to see that you still think I am at the mercy of your mercurial whims, Mr. Stark.” 

“Campaign contributions,” Tony says, “Also, I can and will fund a super PAC to destroy Ramirez’s political career if necessary.” Just because he likes her doesn’t mean he can’t play politics. 

“ _Tony_ —” Steve sounds appalled, and Tony snaps his figures to temporarily mute himself to Xing and says, “Okay, I know that sounded harsh, but this is the only kind of language politicians respond to.”

Steve give him a look (not _the_ Look, though, so Tony’s not in the doghouse yet) as Xing says, “Threats, Mr. Stark, are not appreciated. There are currently court cases in play which could—” 

Tony unmutes himself and says, “Come on, I want this done _yesterday_ , I can’t wait for the Prop 8 mess to get to the Supreme Court. From what I hear, people don’t even _want_ it to get to the Supreme Court. Isn’t the Respect for Marriage Act out of committee and on the floor? Also, you totally owe me one and you said I could cash it in at any time and this is what I want.” 

Xing lets out an aggrieved noise and says, “Why I ever accepted contributions from you I will never understand nor forgive myself for.” 

“I recognize that you’re saying things, but all I hear is whining,” Tony says impatiently. 

“I will see what I can do, but these things take time, and it’s not going to happen overnight. This would be easier to tackle during a second term, Mr. Stark,” and yes, okay, that was clever, he has to give her that. “Now I have to meet with the Secretary of Defense in ten minutes, Your Royal Highness, if you have any other grandiose requests, Darius can deal with them.” Darius, _that’s_ what his name was. 

“You know I can get Ramirez that second term, Xing,” Tony says, “just think about it!”

“That’s President Ramirez to you, Mr. Stark. If I hear from you again before election year, it will be too soon.” There’s a beep as the line disconnects. 

Steve is looking at him with an unreadable expression. 

“Okay, I’m trying to push through groundbreaking, sweeping civil rights reforms, bringing marriage equality in the United States into something like modern times. Now can we please, _please_ , for the love of god and also my sanity, let JARVIS do the taxes? It is too premature to celebrate? Let’s go out anyway, this is something that is worth going out to dinner for, right? I mean, you’re patriotism in human form wrapped in a layer of the American flag, and I’m Iron Man. If we can’t get sentient houses to do our taxes, who can?” Tony tries to smile winningly at Steve. It works about as well as every other time he uses it in an attempt to get away with something, so: not at all. 

“We’re not better than the general populace just because of who we are or what we do,” Steve says. 

“I’m not saying we are, I’m just saying that we essentially have an in-house CPA, which we should totally use to our full advantage while we go and do way more fun normal married couple things,” Tony says, coaxingly. “I mean, this is good, right? Gay superheroes, one, homophobic douchenozzles, zero?” 

“Tony,” Steve says, taking Tony’s hand and gently twisting the plain cobalt chrome ring on his finger, “you don’t have to keep trying to prove that you’re good enough for me.”

Tony smiles reflexively, but his chest hurts. Because they haven’t even been married a year. Because sometimes it still feels fragile and unreal. 

“We can stay in and do taxes if you really want to?” Tony tries, and Steve tugs him in to kiss him, laughing into his mouth. 

Luckily, Steve agrees to dinner on the condition that they stay in and cook, so it never becomes painfully obvious that Tony is totally serious and would bring out the pencils again. Steve still hasn’t caught on to the fact that Tony’s completely and utterly whipped—he doesn’t make a crappy omelet for just anyone—and Tony’s not going to let that cat out of the bag quite yet.


End file.
